The Overcome
by santaisho
Summary: The tragedy will make the lingering struggle in search of that one virtue come to an end. Or maybe it's the signal to embark on the persuit of it.


_A/N: Before you start reading, I'd like to say a few words to warn you, or in the best case, to enlighten and soothe your reading experience. Eventhough my mother tongue is English, it definitely isn't my main. So you may find ambiguities in most of the sentences since I'm used to writing in Spanish. However, I also like English, thus, I decided to write this fanfiction about the League of Legends' Heroes' Background, since there are a lot of gaps which triggered my vast imagination! This story is just for mere entertainment and joy, maybe to shed a tear or two. I tend to make dark themes. Or try to. *laughs*_

_This will mostly contain a mainplot regarding Jarvan IV and company, absolutely fictional and probably won't share any strings with the real LoL story. Of course the canon. I based the plot in the Backstories of the Heroes, which have huge gaps and misunderstandings in links. Plus, I'm experimenting with war scenes. Hope you likey._

* * *

><p><strong>The overcome<strong>

by santaisho

Swiftly he shoved his strong lance at the nearest pair of Noxian enemies he had at reach, drawing blood with a golden radiance following the rhythm as he did so. In an attempt to provoke the enemy infantry, he leaped back and forth stabbing them one by one and letting his allies finish the work with remarkable precision. Heavily breathing in each movement, he inexplicably felt the necessity to hate the noxians in front of him that stood so proudly against the Demacian army. The army he led in the name of his father, the King. This sudden thought stopped him from leaping at an enemy, and with a full-mouth breath he took, "This is the last time I, Jarvan Lightshield IV, demand you to repent and surrender in the name of Demacia." His voice shone over the thousand sounds of war, immediately arising attention from every corner of the battlefield.

As much as he felt like killing every single being that had NOXUS all written over their faces, Demacian ethics arose to make him benevolent towards them. Or what was left of them. In any case, the priggish tone that was attached to the royal commandment infuriated them more than his fearless strikes with his mighty lance, or his leap dance. Subsequently, the Noxian army roared their throat hoarse in response to the ambitious insult they just received from the royal menace. The crown prince of Demacia, Jarvan IV, rolled his eyes in frustration. "Or not?"

"Kill the _brat prince_ of Demacia!" yelled with anger a fierce enemy warrior. This statement immediately jolted Jarvan's comrades -forcing them to jump near the previously named- with the fixated motivation of protecting him at all costs, which made the young prince sigh. He was accustomed to this noxian insolence but he wanted to be the protector of Demacia with his long and fearsome Lance, not the _«protectee»_. With a last breath spitted, Jarvan positioned himself in a combative stance, smiling haughtily at every single enemy within range.

"Let's see who gets to kill who." He muttered in a soft, blunt voice, swirling his lance as he marked the beginning of the new fighting round. His comrades charged as he charged, screaming at the countering ferocious army.

Two battalions of enraged warriors fighting for what they considered justice, truth and glory. There was no point in predicting the end of what seemed an endless battle.

The golden halo swung with the lance's tip at every change of direction the weapon took by his capricious decisions, the flaring red blood flung in the air tainting his very pale face. The scene was no longer panoramic for his charming bright eyes as he focused each enemy. When his eyes targeted someone, everything else seemed to vanish from his senses, providing him a clear view of what he must do: finish them.

The young prince's moves were turning erratically dashing, with the golden rapid color surrounding his figure as he swirled and struck each noxians enemy. His army soldiers were resisting the Noxian push with their very body, some crashing to the ground while others pulled off a slash just in time to save their lives. There was no time to grief for the bleeding or the dead, the only way to really pause is to finish them all, or if they themselves were _dead_! Jarvan kept dashing and flashing and slashing every enemy, leaping to the other side of the battlefield or smashing someone's head to a rock. There was no time to waste in nimieties. His breath became uneven; the heave was becoming a burden to his muscles since his lance started to weight more than usual. The golden halo also became less frequent after each attack he threw, though he didn't seem to notice. However, that didn't keep him from igniting his passion in the battle for the truth. The end will be decided by the last strike.

The noxians also had no intention of laying down their weapons without a good fight, leading them into a blood-thirst. They sought more than a simple kill in each junction of swords and flesh; they wanted the total submission of that prey. Each scream was full of passion and pride to their nation; no one was going to live until they fulfilled their expectations. "NO ONE DEFIES NOXUS" the vile battalion scrammed into the light-spirited warriors of Demacia, ramming their weapons violently. This made the prince back off and trip with a rock, rendering him vulnerable for a few seconds of desperation. "PRINCE!"

The lieutenant of the second division ran to his rescue, jabbing his double axes right in the middle of the noxian's skull, immobilizing him with a very last anguishing look in his eyes. The blood splattered all over Jarvan's armor plate while he watched the spectacle with disgust. "Almost…" The lieutenant yelped but didn't feel it was the time to smile, so he quickly checked on the prince with the corner of his eye and then scanned the battlefield. The noxians have pushed back real hard and most of the Demacian warriors had been crushed in the run. The picture wasn't becoming any less gruesome for Demacia.

Jarvan stared at his fallen comrades. To think they were alive just a while ago. When did those despicable creatures obtain such will-power capable of destabilizing the Demacian army? Demacian army. Demacia can't lose. He stood up on his feet as quickly as his body let him and he dug the point of his lance in the ground, looking firmly at the enemies. His arms felt heavy, his legs were giving in to his weight and his vision was becoming blurry. "Today is a good day to die, my friends." He spoke softly, perhaps trying to convince himself. Everyone else near him smiled wickedly. It was the time of truth. No turning back.

Swirling his lance once more, he charged forward towards the hideous enemies. While running, he took a deep breath. The infantry supported their prince, swinging their weapons and aiming ahead with what's left of their might.

"DEMACIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"

The unearthly scream of the nation of truth was heard from every corner of the planet. Their might was multiplied and ignited for a thousand times their breath lost in the shout. They lost every sign of fear as they approached closer to the enemies with rabid frenzy. Every single Demacian was illuminated with a strange light and Jarvan's lance glowed with a bright yellow under the dusk that was imposing over the lingering war. The time for the last strike has come.

Abruptly, the previously energetic noxians started to break their formation, leaving them vulnerable for Jarvan to take advantage of with his lance. He smiled viciously at the same time he threw his glowing weapon, piercing the whole line of noxians as they were fleeing. As if a work of magic, the lance bounced back to him, leaving a trail of enemy blood on the way to his hands.

"They are retreating" concluded the young prince almost possessed by that frantic sensation of vainglory. "I _won_" his voice was grave. Still, his eyes were locked on the other run away losers and he ran determinedly after them with his lance full of fury. No one had the right to get away alive after they defied a Lightshield!

"HA HA, in the name of _me_, you will perish! Noxus!"

Young Jarvan leaped over a long patch of what seemed mud mixed with a puddle of blood and he reached the horrified enemy soldier, stabbing him in the rib cage, the sound of cracking bones and a weak groan filled the somehow silent air. Jarvan's triumphant smile disappeared in a fraction of a second when a cold puncture traveled from his back. His eyes stared shockingly at the fine metal edge emerging from the right side of his abdomen while a canticle fell from the same opening as the liquid struggled to get out as quickly as it could. He tried to seek understanding by looking at the context, immediately finding his allies on the floor, lifeless. It seemed that more battalions of the enemy side came in their aid when they were being repelled by the Demacian might, and that was a move he didn't foresee. Such a pity.

His legs finally gave in to the weight of his armored body, landing on his knees on the bloody grass while a languid groan took place as the lucky-striker removed the cutting weapon from the prince's weakened body. "Who gets to kill who, huh" A preternatural laughing voice mocked the young prince in his dying state. Its maniacal laughter resounded inside his ears, deafening him, when he was slowly patting the ground looking for something to sustain him, grasping what was left of his life. _The last strike was_…

The soldiers were mumbling to each other, murmuring blasphemous words about the Lightshield line and all Demacia. What example has the prince set for the nation of truth and justice? Utter defeat. Jarvan couldn't focus as to which face he should dare to look at. Every face seemed distorted and ghastly. Taunting him.

"What's wrong, _prince_" The preternatural voice faked a worried tone in its question. The source of the intimidating sound caught Jarvan's full attention obliging him to turn back. His eyes couldn't determine the figure that was before him. Black… constantly changing shapes… and six red dots. It was a picture he'd never be able to forget. "Did someone take your breath?" The strange opponent kicked the young prince in his recent stab wound.

"Ugh.." cried Jarvan in reaction.

Laughter overcame the prince's voice, "Look at this scenery. Absolute defeat", a weak line curved in the creature's face. "You are the great prize for this war, Demacian. Don't you dare to forget how much of a failure the savages of Demacia were to fulfill the simplest task of protecting their crown prince."

Jarvan scoffed at the Noxian's arrogance. "You talk about effectiveness, yet it took you at least four battalions more to stand against one single Demacian army!" When he finished smart-mouthing the noxian creature, he received a blow to his face, sending him backwards a few yards.

"You have no right to speak in your position, brat." Another man, the one who presumably backstabbed the prince, growled at him. Jarvan remained silent though his eyes pierced him.

The two noxians looked at each other and murmured incomprehensible stuff in front of the prince. They pointed towards a direction and back to where Demacia was. Then they looked down on the dying, yet daring, young man. "We have no other choice. Urgot." the man with the scythe-like weapon moved forward, responding to the name, and he bent towards the prince. "It is time for you to spit topics of our interest, young boy." Said the black creature behind the strong man called Urgot.

"Let me guess, what's the secret code to my fortune?" Jarvan smirked weakly. Thus, he received another blow to the face.

The noxian dark creature laughed once more then he proceeded with the chatter. "That doesn't interest me in the least. What interests me is the surrender of Demacia to Noxus' will!"

"You forget the most important thing, Noxian!" Jarvan yelled with a weakened air. Both noxian stared him in silence in spite of the loud murmur the noxian army created. "My father, the King, is the one with the final decision." He laughed. "I'm afraid you caught the wrong Demacian."

Urgot's mouth drew a wicked smile, full of luxury. It tore the smile Jarvan had, turning it into a doubtful expression.

"No, no. We got the right Demacian." He said while licking the edge of the tainted dagger, tasting the cooled royal blood.

"What?" The prince gasped, infuriated.

The other obscure creature of limitless proportions got nearer to the youth, surrounding his neck with his arm. Jarvan shook at the coldness. "You said your coward father has the last word. Absurd. What do you think he would say if…" he paused for a moment to disintegrate part of his arm into a black mist. The mist was suspended in mid air as long as it took Jarvan to process the situation, then it spiraled like a lightning into his open wound, dragging with it a harsh pain that arched his spine. The wound burnt like no other fire could and it hastily spread to his entire thorax, leaving him unable to move or say anything that would make him waste more air. It felt as if he let the air go, it would have been the last breath he took. "…Oh, you were going to say something useful now? My bad." The creature laughed unpleasantly whilst pushing the prince far away in almost the verge of death. "Finish him, Urgot," Its voice suddenly turned stoic and emotionless, "this has bored me to the fullest."

The man with the blade nodded with a wide smirk on his face.

"This is the end for you, in the name of Demacia." The dark creature mocked once again before disappearing. The noxian army was upbeat and cheering the executioner to cut the prince's throat and teach the enemy empire a lesson about Noxus. This was going to be the final strike, thought Jarvan hopelessly, but it was a good day to die after all. The orange setting sun gently warmed his cheeks, earlier frozen due to the blood-loss; meanwhile his body was shaken by the flames that ramified to every single extremity.

"This is the moment of truth! Noxus triumph!" proclaimed the valiant noxian alas preparing to deal the final fatal strike to the prince. However, Jarvan glared up to his aggressor with fearless eyes, taking the last breath his lungs permitted him convinced it was going to be the last thing he'll ever say in that life, and said "There is only one truth, and you will find it at the point of my lance."

The metal cut through the air with great velocity.

»"I dun wanna have protection, father!"

»The elegant man gave the child a disapproving look. An elder man, full of wisdom in his eyes, chuckled since the kid reminded him of his own son, now fully grown up. "It's not a matter of wanting or not wanting, Jarv. It is a _must_."

»The little kid with bright eyes pouted as he turned to see his stoic father. "Why dun _you_ need protection, then!"

»"That's simple. I can take care of myself" The father approached quickly to his son and patted his little shoulder. "On the contrary, you can't," he paused for a few seconds trying to remember his childhood, "for now".

»The old man swung his head from side to side as if that scene was a paradox to him. He felt the King was as incurable as always. "Like father, like son" he murmured to himself. All of a sudden, one of the High Maids of the castle rushed to the scenery, quite agitated. "My King Jarvan III, if I may," she bowed with major respect. Jarvan's father nodded with the same amount of respect, and the maid continued, "The Dauntless' have chosen their next legatee of Demacian warriors."

»Jarvan father looked at the young woman quite appalled. Jarvan junior looked up at him, then at the woman, then at the old man, who shrank in his shoulders. "I see," replied the King. "If you will excuse me, I have to attend to this matter quickly."

»And the woman guided Jarvan III to their destination as Jarvan junior watched them from afar. Quite frustrated.

»"What's the matter, young master?" asked the old wise man.

»Jarvan sighed lightly. "Father is the matter. He never takes me seriously." He looked at the old man with hurt eyes, "Do you think I can take care of myself?"

»The elder stayed quiet.

» " How am I going to take care of others if I can't do it by myself? Hmph." The boy looked away, staring at the beautifully marbled pattern on the floor. "Father doesn't make sense" he pouted. The older man was shocked by the young child's interesting choice of words.

»"Maybe," he started, "you have to have the strength to stand on your feet before you can carry anyone else on your back, young prince" He smiled.

»Jarvan looked with starry eyes at the sky. He didn't understand much of what the gramps just told him but he was sure that what he needed the most to achieve his goal was "Strength". He was determined to achieve it.

»Both started to walk to the main fountain the secondary mansion had. The luxury their family bathed in was enormous, thus the large fountain was used as a meeting point for the high ranked ministers, soldiers, diplomats and such. There were people already near the large, circular fountain, and in-between was Jarvan's father with his usual stoic expression. Before he turned around to see the old man and his son, he was greeting another young boy with armor that kept bowing and bowing. Just when the old man and Jarvan junior finally reached the fountain, his father walked and stood behind of Jarvan. "Meet your new friend, Jarvan." he pushed his son forward. Then he gestured for the young soldier to make his performance.

»"Uh, um, My name.." he stuttered while blushing furiously when their eyes met. "MynameisGa-Garen, my Lord." he threw the words so quickly to recover his breath. Then he knelt down with immense reverence and a humble gesture.

»Jarvan looked at him with widened eyes. He stared at the flustered cheeks of that strange boy with awe.

»The King bent to whisper at his son "He's going to be your guardian from now on". And that was a huge deal for the heir of Lightshield's royal throne.

»He brushed aside and crossed his arms over his chest. "That's a long name, Mynameisgagaren" he mocked with a pestered tone. His eyes were glimmering to the other boy's sight, whatever expression it shaped into; the glitter would mesmerize the humble soldier.

»"I beg your pardon, Prince Jarvan, my name is Garen Crownguard and I'm willing to be your companion." The young boy stood firmly at the prince's mock. He doubted whether to say the next phrase as it was what he was told to say. He probably didn't understand much of it either, "I'm going to do everything I can to protect you", certainly corny.

»A flame ignited inside Jarvan's being. "Oh, really." His anger was rising. "Do _you_ have what it takes?"

»The old man looked worried at Garen. However the King looked joyfully at the two kids, full of Demacian spirit.

»"_What it takes_?" Garen bit his lower lip trying to figure out the meaning of those words, without success. He thought of the spirit of will-power the Demacian soldier had to have to be able to get through wars. "I have what it takes," he replied assured of his thoughts. Afterwards, he stretched his hand to Jarvan waiting for a handshake as he smiled.

»The prince child glared at the humble figure in front of him, who was waiting for a warmth encounter. He slapped the back of Garen's hand and scoffed, hence the nudge on the head he received instead by his father. "I'm so ashamed for my son's current attitude, young Garen Crownguard. I am sure you two will get to an understanding soon."

»"GAH" Jarvan freed himself from his father's grasp and confronted the young soldier with despise. "Aba, give me the lance."

»The four witnesses were struck with awe at his commandment.

»"What are you waiting for!" He roared with his thin voice. And in a second, the old man channeled the gate to the dimension where the glowing weapon was resting at. The magic surprised Garen, he just couldn't get accustomed to that no matter how many times he saw it in a daily basis. The elder took the lance carefully and shrank it to a portable size for the prince's short arm to carry and gave it to him. Jarvan didn't take his eyes away from his opponent as he prepared the stance his father taught him so well.

»Soon, the prince sneered at Garen, "_I'm_ going to decide whether you have what it takes, you low-class."

»Garen looked at Jarvan with a slight rage. His eyes examined the magical weapon Jarvan was porting; it had a shiny point that intimidated him. However, in the academy, they taught the close ranged warriors how to disable those of longer range such as spears and lances. It was just a matter of time to demonstrate the true power Garen possessed. Was that what the prince wanted?

»The prince was getting sick of the long pauses so he roared at the soldier. "Brandish your sword already, slow poke!"

»And Garen did. His eyes slowly changed, as if locking his prey.

»Jarvan swallowed. "Here I go," He scrubbed the floor with his right foot and charged forward with the other one, giving him enough impulse to make a neat strike.

»Unfortunately, Garen skillfully dodged the dash and pushed the prince with the back of the sword, aiming to his back. That made the prince fall over but gave him enough time to stand up and start nagging at the boy, "That was a foul trick!" he prepared the stance again. "Be serious!"

»The soldier boy looked at the King; a nod was the only response he obtained. So he dashed forward and swung his sword at the lance, clashing metallic sounds. The lance was thrown from Jarvan's little hands, bouncing far away from the two contingents. The prince stared confusedly at what just happened. He felt he couldn't grasp the lance well enough to prevent that foul trick.

»Garen put his sword back into its case with nothing but a stare to the floor, ashamed. It was the end. "My Lord, I …"

»Jarvan turned around quickly, hiding his face "I don't need protection, I said!" He yelled because he was impotent. Then he fled from the group to no special direction. It was terribly humiliating that a random low-class boy from nowhere beats him in a battle. He was taught by his father, the best in lance fencing after his grandfather, who passed away in combat. He died in his mighty glory, but this! This Jarvan IV was overpowered by a sword wielder. What a shame!

»He soon slowed his pace and started to jog towards that no-particular direction looking over his shoulder, much to his surprise, Garen was chasing him after. "Stay away!" Jarvan cried while he recovered his fast pace. Garen started to wave his right hand quickly with a scary face. What was Garen trying to say? "I don't want a protector, and even if I did, I wouldn't want _you_ as my prot-!" And before he could finish, a heavy weight hit his chest, leaving him unable to breathe for a second and stumbling him backwards until he fell to the ground. Jarvan's eyes rolled until he could focus clearly only to find out that the full-body-length vase, that was previously over the column he bumped, was aiming to his whole body. His eyes shut in an instant despite being too petrified to scream.

»The sound of porcelain breaking into a million pieces could be heard from over a hundred meters away; and then, the few sounds that could be heard were Jarvan's restrained sobs. Blood started to drip on his face, from above. He opened his eyes slowly and found Garen over him, trying to withstand the pain he took when the porcelain vase crashed on his back and the back of his head.

»"Garen!" Jarvan sat up, helping Garen to stand on his feet. "A-Are you okay?" He tore a piece of his fine clothing and tried to copy what the nurses did to his old injuries long time ago, placing the tissue on the injuries in hope that it would help the pain go away. "Why did you do that?" The prince asked appalled and blushing furiously. Another person gets hurt trying to protect him. He really wanted to be able to take care of himself, now more than ever.

»And Garen's eyes widened in surprise. "I thought you wanted to see if I have what it takes."

»"Yeah," he began, stopping dead when he couldn't figure what to say.

»"Did I pass?"

A low, pained grunt shook him from his mind lost in memories, bringing him back to the bloody battle graveyard that was a result of the hideous war that took place a minute ago. And although his eyes were still blurry, they focused on the recognizable arrow stuck in his executioner's chest. "This is not over!" A familiar baritone voice imposed a strong presence, hence, daunting the other hundred foe cheers in a split of a second. "Hyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" A red flash swung through the air with such ability, moving around as if it didn't weight at all. It drew a zigzag in the air whilst blood from Urgot's body suddenly flew in all directions, ending in the dismemberment of the noxian as it wore a horrified expression without lacking the taint of rage.

Jarvan's eyes flashed to the figure that landed safely near him, shaking the black blood off his sword. Without any warning, he was pulled up by the blurry knight, soon revealing his identity as the leader of the Dauntless Vanguard of Demacia, "Garen". The mentioned man shrugged when he made a thorough examination of the prince's deplorable state. That calling wasn't meant to be responded but being rhetoric wasn't what Jarvan wanted to sound like, either.

The leader of the strike force looked around quickly as the other Dauntless members rammed into the noxians with great bravery, giving him time to give orders to everyone with a single gesture; in all that time he didn't show any sign of expression change other than a variety of anger and shades of fierceness.

The lieutenant nodded to Garen's silent commandment and yelled for Demacia, encouraging everyone else to push the enemies back for Garen to drag the prince away.

"Hop on" Garen demanded, hurried. He bent sufficiently for Jarvan to bind over his back.

"There's… no… time… for piggy rides.." The prince breathed heavily as he climbed the well-built back of his old friend. "Weren't there… any mounts ready?"

Garen smirked at Jarvan, declaring with honesty "This was all spontaneous, believe me!" then he looked back at the lieutenant, who was busy slamming his axes into noxian flesh, and said firmly "Cover for me." Avoiding any more waste of time, he started running towards Demacia, hoping his underlings would be able to return home with glory between their hands instead of more coffins. The sound of metals clashing and people screaming took a few hundred meters to completely quiet and the picture of disaster got tinier and tinier for Jarvan to contemplate with melancholy. He was saved unlike the other thousand Demacians that aided him in battle, which recalled him his Grandfather telling him stories of so many battles back at the time.

Even though the passage was too dark, Garen kept running through the night forests like there was no tomorrow as though there was an invisible deathbringer chasing after him. Nothing could distract him from his goal, Jarvan thought for a second, he was thirsty of getting to the empire as soon as possible. The brat prince's eyes closed from fatigue due to the sparse burn numbing his whole body, including his head, feeling the cold on the breeze scratching his cheeks. Perhaps there was no tomorrow. _«Maybe you have to have the strength to stand on your feet before you can carry anyone else on your back, young prince» _Before he could realize, he was looking dimly down at Garen again, slowly decreasing his breath pace. It maddened Jarvan to recall Garen's perseverance in everything he had to and ought to do, proving once more he had what it _took_, in a large and painful scale for the prince to bear.  
>His grip weakened.<br>Where was his lance? He remembered for an instant and then seized his worry. In spite of Aba's death, the magicians from the Academy back in Demacia would be able to summon it back without fail. "We're near, Jarvan, hold on!" The dauntless warrior spoke though the mist, however, failing to reanimate his partner.  
>Jarvan moved his eyes to the direction in front of them. A tower of teleportation. That was clearly smarter than a mount, he thought. As expected from Garen. Imagine how greater this man could become. He could be suitable for the crown himself. Or a Baron, a Duke. A respectable title for him.<p>

His thoughts became short.  
>Jarvan looked up to the starry sky remembering Aba and his words.<p>

"You did pass. You always pass." His arms loosened and he fell into a never-ending pond of blackness.


End file.
